


Everything You'll Give Me

by shadow_lover



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multiple Sex Positions, Sibling Incest, Vulnerability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 03:13:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6638947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadow_lover/pseuds/shadow_lover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Al’s laughter is the point of no return. “I want to,” Al says. “I’ve wanted to for so long, brother.”</p><p>And, alright, perhaps the point of no return was years ago. Ed knows his heart was made to revolve around the brightest thing in the universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything You'll Give Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GloriousGoblinQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GloriousGoblinQueen/gifts).



> Hello! I adored your request, and I hope you enjoy this fic :)

Ed grows two inches over the next four years. He expected to grow more; his energy wasn’t siphoning off to support Al’s body anymore. But he supposes that two inches are better than none. He’s as tall as Al at first, and then Al’s rocketing off ahead of him, and Ed doesn’t have the heart to resent him for it.

Al doesn’t need to hide himself anymore. And he doesn’t. He’s no longer a giant, clanking suit of armor, but somehow he’s more present than ever. His laughter can fill the room—can fill the whole city.

His laughter fills Ed with joy, and he doesn’t need alchemy when he has this.

**~**

He always assumed he was a beta. That made sense: he didn’t go into rut, and he didn’t go into heat. Scientifically speaking, barring disability and injury—not his kind of disability—being a beta was the only option there.

And when he passed the age of thirteen, then fourteen, then fifteen, without falling prey to biological compulsion, he figured that was that. Beta. Easy.

But nothing in Ed’s life is easy, and he goes into heat for the first time at twenty years of age.

They’re visiting military headquarters when the first wave hits. He doesn’t understand the sudden fever. His vision swims. Riza glances up, and says, “Are you—”

“What?” asks Al, and his voice is the summer breeze against Ed’s neck.

“Nothing,” says Riza. She hands over paperwork.

Ed grits his teeth and struggles for composure. He isn’t about to fall ill at headquarters—not with everyone he knows around—not when he’s only just proven himself stable and able to take a position as a state-sponsored researcher.

At twenty, he’s only just won back a rank he took as a child. The flush is nervousness, he decides. The too-rough friction of his shirtsleeves is nervousness too—he's oversensitive because he's nervous. He’s hyperaware of Al at his side, watching, as if Ed’s the fragile one.

Al keeps watching as they walk back to their apartment.

**~**

The next day, he knows what it is. He’s kneeling in the center of their living room, and the bare concrete is rough beneath his knees. They pulled up the floorboards the week they moved in. The landlady had a conniption, but they assured her Al could restore them with a clap of his hands.

Ed’s hands are dusty with chalk as he draws an array onto the floor. He can’t perform alchemy, but he can analyze the shapes of it. He’s trained long to build his right arm to strength. His hands are steady as he draws, until they’re unsteady. Heat flares and he doubles over, gasping. The chalk breaks. He can’t breathe, and there’s a flame spinning from heart to belly. The room is like ice, and he craves warmth. He craves touch.

As he bites back a whimper, he knows what this is.

He shoves himself backwards, panting, as if burned. He needs space. He needs safety and a hand to hold. Strong, soft hands, grown just larger than his.

He slams away that thought. _No,_ he thinks. _First, I need a book._

With painstaking composure, he races to his study.

**~**

The study is an alchemically renovated storage closet. There’s not much space, but there are bright lamps along the walls, and the window Al created looks out onto the sunset and the hills. The room is big enough for a bookshelf, an armchair, and a desk.

He’s asleep at the desk. Then the door creaks, and he’s awake. It isn’t the sound that wakes him. It’s the smell: sweat and books and sunlight, the bittersweet hint of alchemy. It’s everything. Ed pushes off the pile of books, and freezes, half-slumped and braced against the desk’s edge.

“Brother?” Al asks. “Is something wrong?”

Ed closes his eyes. _Get out,_ he should say, but he chokes on the words. “I’m going for a walk,” he says instead.

But when he uncurls from the chair, he can hardly keep his feet. He sways, and he remembers days spent staggering, dizzy with pain and blood loss. This is nothing like that. This is nothing he’s ever dealt with before, and he is adrift in the haze. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Al says, and Ed agrees. Nothing of this is a good idea. Nothing of this is an idea at all; this need runs so much deeper than thought.

He’s too warm, and he can’t look his brother in the eyes. He knows he should leave, but he can’t get to the door without getting closer to Al. If he gets closer, he’ll never leave. He knows this with every fiber of his being. “It’s stuffy in here,” he says, forcing a grin. “I’m just going to clear my head.”

He makes the mistake of looking at Al, and the sight is a dagger through his heart. His brother’s grown tall, and he’ll grow taller still. With shoulders broadened over his travels in Xing, he moves with a clear, kind confidence that compels the eye.

His body isn’t the strength of him. His soul has shone the same all these years. In the cramped, yellow-lit study, Al gleams golden, and Ed is lost.

Al says, “So, your heats started.”

“Yes.” He has no will for falsehood when his entire body strains with desire. Of course Al knows. Ed leans back against the desk, bare hands splayed behind him.

“That’s good,” Al says, and he—damn him—walks forward. He sets his bag at the doorway and he walks forward.

Ed shakes with the effort of not flinging himself at him. “You should go,” he forces out. “I’ll take care of myself.”

“I’m not leaving you alone,” Al says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. 

Ed feels sick.

No. He _should_ feel sick. But he doesn’t. Because—of course, this _would_ be him. This would be his life. He’s a walking transgression, and at least it’s nice to know it’s wired into his very nature.

But... he’s seen so much evil in the world. Up close, bloody, and personal. _This isn’t that. This is right,_ he thinks, as Al’s hand slides warm along his jaw. _This is good,_ as he reaches, and curls his fist in Al’s coat. “You idiot,” he says, and he’ll say anything to see that blinding grin.

“You’re the idiot, brother,” Al says. “Does it hurt?” His hand is so gentle, it’s nearly impossible to think of anything else.

“Yes,” Ed admits, and the word strips him bare. He aches inside. He’s burning away. His hand clenches so tight, he thinks he’ll never be able to let go. This is something new in this wide world—and yet, it’s everything he's ever known. Him, his brother, and something only theirs.

“Can I help?” Al asks. 

It’s all Ed can do to close his eyes and grit out, “You don't have to.”

Al’s laughter is the point of no return. “I want to,” Al says. “I’ve wanted to for so long, brother.”

And, alright, perhaps the point of no return was years ago. Ed knows his heart was made to revolve around the brightest thing in the universe.

He can resist biology; he can't resist the tremor of need in his brother's voice. So Ed says, “Okay,” and then Al bends forward, gently holding Ed in place, and their lips meet.

Where the heat consumes, Al’s touch restores him. The slow tenderness, the ease with which they meld—he doesn’t need to breathe if he can have this. He doesn’t need to eat or sleep or open his eyes if he can live in this kiss forever. And then Al’s pulling away to say, “I’ve wanted you for so long,” and suddenly Ed wants so much _more_.

He shoves at Al’s coat until Al, laughing, helps him push it to the floor. Ed’s too hot, and the fabric’s all too rough and cold. He needs skin against his. He needs to feel how much Al wants him. Al seems to be in agreement; between wet, frantic wet kisses, he fumbles with buttons and shoves at clothing, until he bares Ed from the waist up. He licks a hot line down Ed’s neck. Ed arches into the touch, the teeth and tongue, and he’s too far gone to be ashamed of the needy whine that escapes him.

He’s never needed anyone so much in his life.

He’s always needed Al.

As Al traces the scars on his shoulder, he shudders. Al’s scent flares, and Ed breathes him in. The alpha’s instincts are rising to meet his, and Ed realizes that each of them is exactly as far gone as the other. He’s got Al’s shirt unbuttoned now, and it’s crazy how much clumsier he is with two living hands instead of one. The whole thing is crazy. The only sane thing in this world is Al standing over him, hands curving perfectly along his ribs. His head’s ducked under Ed’s jaw. Hair and breath tickle against Ed’s neck, and lips move hot over his skin: “How much do you want?”

Ed shudders. “Everything. Everything you'll give me.” He jerks up as those soft hands slide down his abdomen, taut with desire. He jerks again as Al traces the line of his waistband. “Fuck,” he breathes. He’s so hard, and Al slides a thumb over his cock through the cloth. Ed thinks he’s going to die if he isn’t filled now.

Al knows. He doesn’t say anything, but he knows. He’s stroking Ed through the tight fabric, rougher with each of Ed’s muffled whimpers. Ed is out of his mind with lust. He can’t control any of this.

Al knows that too, and when he speaks again, it’s with a rough authority. “Turn around, brother.”

Ed’s knees weaken, but he obeys. When Al pushes, he bends over the desk. There are books at his elbows. He shakes, and they wouldn’t have gotten to a bedroom even if they tried. He’s still shaking as Al leans over him, caressing his back, his sides, his hips, and he can’t understand the words Al’s crooning. That doesn't matter; all he wants is his brother’s voice.

Rough fumbling, a curse, and then the unmistakable clap. With a whiff of smoke, Ed’s cold and bare from head to toe. His automail is all that’s keeping him upright. The exposure should be terrifying, but it isn't. He bows his head to the desk and waits.

Al kicks his legs apart. “You’re wet,” he says, and his voice is awed. He’s right, Ed can feel. There are hands on him, and a thumb dips into his crack. He jerks at the touch, a possessive nudge against his hole. He’s exposed and open and he just needs so much. He fights back a whimper with every exploration of Al’s fingers.

He knows Al’s rushing when two fingers curl into him. He nearly collapses just with that. Two fingers at once, pumping into him, spreading him open. Without the slick, it would be rough, but as it is, Ed’s impatient, and this isn’t enough.

“Get on with it,” he growls, and Al leans over to kiss his shoulder.

“I want to enjoy this.” His bare skin against Ed’s back is a revelation. But he goes along with Ed’s urging, slipping in another finger, and the sound and feel are wet and filthy. Ed never knew a touch could be so devastating.

It isn’t nearly enough. He’s lightheaded, like he might pass out with need. He’s so dizzy and gone, he doesn’t notice Al’s fingers leaving, doesn’t notice the rustling cloth, until it all must have already happened because then Al rubs against him, hot and hard. His cock slides over Ed’s hole, not penetrating, just rutting against him, and Ed needs it so bad.

“Alphonse,” he begs.

Al pushes into him. With the first thrust, Ed melts against the desk, pliant with instinct. He’s never felt so loose and docile in his life. He’s breathless and dizzy with everything he gets to have.

And then Al moves, and it gets even better. He’s slow at first, but soon thrusts harder, and the desk rocks. Ed trembles, hands clenched, and Al takes hold of his wrists. He holds Ed in place against the hard surface as he fucks into him, and Ed can do nothing but whimper with rhythm. He’s splitting apart on his brother’s cock, stretched out, spread open, and it _hurts_ , even with the slick, to be spread so wide and deep. It hurts, and it’s everything he needs.

His own cock rubs against the desk with every thrust, and he’s so close already: a day of pent-up tension coils low in his belly, tingling all the way to his fingertips.

“You’re amazing,” Al’s saying against the back of his neck. “I’m so glad you’re mine.”

It’s true. It’s been true his whole life. As Al rocks just so inside him, there’s a last burst of sensation. Ed spirals into pleasure. He jerks and shudders beneath Al; he comes hard against the desk and his own belly. His thighs tremble, his nerves cross-firing. There’s a thread of phantom pain from his lost leg that only builds his orgasm higher. He’s so high, he thinks he’s never going to fall again.

As his thoughts regain coherence, Al’s still pumping into his oversensitive hole. Ed whimpers. Al’s suddenly too big, too much, for him to take, and yet he takes it. He takes it, bending, giving himself up to his brother—and then Al pulls out. Ed curses vehemently.

“No, here, it’s okay—” Al’s hands at his side, lifting, and he half-carries Ed across the room. They stumble. Al’s still half-dressed, and Ed’s off-balance. His automail is suddenly too heavy, but then Al falls back into the armchair and pulls Ed on top of him, and _down_.

Ed’s filled again, to the very limits of his capacity. This time, he can see Al’s face as he sinks onto his cock, and he’s never seen anything better. Al’s glowing, red-faced, grinning, as he takes Ed’s face in both hands and kisses him. Ed moans into it. Then Al’s hands are on his hips, holding him down, and Al’s rocking up into him.

It's a rough, desperate grind. His arms fall around Al’s neck, steadying himself. The pressure inside is so overwhelming. He wants to move with the thrusts but he can’t: he’s a heat-addled, pliant rag doll on his brother’s cock. His own arousal stirs again. After clinging so long to control, it’s incredible to let go into Al’s arms.

Al thrusts in deeper, smaller motions. He’s grinds up, hands sweaty on Ed’s hips, and then he cries out, wordless, and goes rigid. Ed feels it, then, the pressure at his hole, and he knows why Al moved them to the chair.

He’s already stretched so wide. Al’s knot pushes him even further open, slowly, and Ed’s gasping with it. He scratches claw-marks in Al’s shoulders to match the marks on his hips.

Then it’s in. They’re locked together, and Al shudders up. Ed feels every hot pulse like a punch to the gut, and the moment stretches out forever. Their foreheads press together. Al’s eyes are closed, and Ed’s entranced with every golden eyelash. At last, filled by Al’s knot, his painful need is sated. The pulse of Al’s release is as dizzying as his own orgasm.

Their breath mingles, rough and panting, as they return to earth together. Ed’s heart still soars. Limbs slide warm together, fitting together, in every way. Even Ed’s automail is grown flesh-warm, pressed against his brother’s living body.

Dizzy, heat-dazed, and knotted, Ed thinks he’s finally whole.


End file.
